Saved
by Cmdr. Phantom
Summary: Post Chosen. Buffy turns up in LA with the Slayers. BA and BS implied.


Buffy looked out of the window, her eyes following the drops of rain as they trailed down the pane. Every so often the sky would light up, bright streaks of white lightening contrasting with the pitch black of the clouds heavy with rain. The thunder was still only a distant rumble, and seemed to settle itself over the landscape. Buffy's head was awhirl with thoughts, and she never paused long enough to snatch one and contemplate it. She didn't want to dwell. From behind her, a clatter of feet reminded her that she wasn't alone. She turned her head, catching half a dozen bodies as they rushed past her hotel bedroom, all female, all under the age of 18. Frowning, and wanting to be alone with the thoughts she wouldn't allow herself to think upon, she moved to the door, closing it softly. A shriek of laughter penetrated the walls, then a thump, then a low male voice cut over the general din of female voices. It was too much... too many people. She couldn't be alone.  
  
She hadn't been alone since they'd come from Sunnydale. Like refugee's on a sinking ship, their school bus pulled into Los Angeles and made it's way to where Willow was sure Angel lived. Buffy hadn't bothered to ask how she knew, trying to keep herself occupied with keeping at least 30 people, half of them wounded, from doing anything stupid.  
  
The hotel had been deserted. Buffy's eyes had swept over the lobby before coming to that decision, but she knew it hadn't been that for very long. Everywhere she'd looked, there were signs that the place had been occupied, by a lot of people. Thinking of Faith, and the first time they had met, Buffy had ordered a food search, and they'd found the kitchen loaded. Whoever had been occupying the hotel had left in a hurry, not bothering to empty it out and declare it abandoned. Buffy had pushed that tidbit of information into the back of her head, to dwell on later with all the other mind numbing things in her mind at the moment, like where exactly Angel was. After feeding, Buffy and Giles with the help of Willow and Xander, organized rooms for everyone, settling them down on the still made beds. Suitcases still lay in rooms, personal items and clothes scattered everywhere. The hotel was quiet for all of two minutes, before the first of the voices were heard. Starting off low, they gained in volume as people realized no one else was asleep. And that was how Buffy found herself now, her hand still against her door as she listened to the voices of the people she helped save, swapping stories and moments and their relief that they still had their lives, and the soft weeping for those they'd lost. But Buffy couldn't. For too long she had held her thoughts in check, not let herself stop to think least she give in to her fear and worry. Still tethering on the edge, while those around her slowly let themselves relax.  
  
The noise was too much.  
  
Opening her door again, she padded down the dim hallway, down the stairs into the lobby where the original Scooby gang sat, softly talking, and through past the front desk. She found the stairs to the basement easily, opening the door and descending the stairs. It was quiet here, peaceful. The constant hum of people didn't reach below, and the cold dankness of the room gave her some slight bit of comfort. She eyes swept the room, and narrowed as she took in the large metal cage in the far left corner. That too, she pushed aside in her mind, and found a small elevated shelf to sit on. Facing the blank wall, it seem fitting. Her mind so full of thoughts, she felt blank. She couldn't think, couldn't comprehend, couldn't react. Like the time she destroyed her high school, what she had done was just too huge an act to come down from.  
  
She heard footsteps behind her, but didn't bother to turn. Her mushed brain automatically identified the footsteps as male, but that was as far as she got before an odd sensation sent shivers down her spine. She closed her eyes, wishing her tired body would stop playing tricks on her, when suddenly strong arms slipped under hers and around her waist, pulling her back against a well muscled chest. Breathing deeply, she savored the smell of her ex lover before turning her head to face him, "Angel."  
  
He smiled down at her softly, his eyes full of concern, "How you doing?"  
  
It hadn't been so long since she'd seen him last, but to Buffy felt like it had been years. She turned back to face the wall, leaning against the man she loved, loosing herself in his familiar and comforting feel. Angel felt her body tremble under his gentle touch, knew she was fighting for control. She was in so much pain, and in turn caused anguish for himself. Tightening his hold, he lent down, resting his chin on her shoulder, "Tell me what happened." He spoke softly.  
  
And she did. Her voice soft, and her eyes still closed, Buffy picked up her story from when she'd last seen Angel, a few weeks after she'd died, not counting when he'd shown up in Sunnydale to help with The First. She told of her pain of being pulled out of heaven, of the suffocation she felt from her friends, who she knew wanted to help, but only managed to make things worse. How some mornings she woke up and wondered why she bothered going on. How some days she wished she could send them all to hell so they could see exactly what it was they'd done to her. Of Spike, whom she hated, yet strangely enough couldn't seem to shake. How his silent presence for those first few months had been the only thing keeping her on this side of alive, and how guilty she'd suddenly felt for taking so much from him but not giving anything in return.  
  
"That's why I kissed him, that first time." Buffy had soft tears trailing down her cheeks, and was only partly aware of Angel behind her. He hadn't spoken since the beginning of her story, and he didn't comment now. His hand was slowly stroking her hair, her back, her arm, his comfort and nearness enough to prompt her to continue, "And then....., I just couldn't seem to stop."  
  
She spoke of how she'd been drawn to Spike, unwillingly, unwontedly. "And he was always there. And he never expected anything from me. Didn't demand that I was happy, didn't ask why I was depressed. He gave me what I needed..... and he loved me." An arm tensed around her, a sharp breath inhaled. Buffy continued.  
  
Spoke of how she had been so bizarrely wrapped up in not having feelings for Spike, that she missed the suffering of her friends around her. Of how Willow had lost the one person she'd truly loved, and Buffy hadn't been able to help her. "I wanted too, but I'd been so cut off I didn't know how."  
  
Of how Spike had tried to rape her, of how Xander had looked at her with eyes full of disgust when he'd found out, and how she'd hated him for it. Hated herself for it. Hated Spike for being able to effect her so much by sleeping with Anya. Hated Giles for leaving.  
  
How she couldn't comprehend why Spike had gotten a soul. Couldn't comprehend his insanity when she'd needed his help. How she didn't take the time to understand. Just didn't want too. "I thought.... I know now that he'd done it for me. To be with me. And he was so broken. I didn't want to have the responsibility of making him like that. Knowing that it was my fault that he'd lost his mind was just too much. I tried to cut him off, but he was always there. After everything I'd done to him, he was still there. My friends, my own family turned against me and there he was, deep blue eyes telling me we could win it back. He never gave up on me. And then I loved him."  
  
The body behind her tensed. The breathing stopped. The arm retracted. Tears rolled down her face, but Buffy couldn't look at him. Didn't dare face the accusing look in his eyes. She knew.... she had known ever since her and Spikes 'fake' engagement all those years ago no one would ever tolerate any feelings she might hold for Spike. In everybody's eyes around her, Spike was not suitable for her to love. And yet, it was he that sacrificed his life for her, and everything that she'd been fighting for. He who just held her when she'd needed comfort, even though his love for her was almost bursting at the seems.  
  
"He's dead."  
  
She hadn't let her self think it since she'd last seen him, filling with light, his eyes full of love and determination. But she could no longer hide from the truth. Dead. Spike. More so then usual  
  
Her body shuddered, and Angel's soothing arms were around her instantly. A sob escaped her lips, and his embrace tightened. His first words to her since her story started were soft, sweet nothings, designed to soothe her.  
  
Long moments past, and Buffy cried. For every Slayer potential who had lost their lives in the battle against the hellmouth. For Anya, who'd become a reluctant Scooby, and had given her life to the cause. For Tara, and the love lost between her and Willow. For every innocent teenager killed at Sunnydale high, whom she hadn't been able to save. For her mother, for Jenny Calender, for every person Angelus had murdered. For Jessie, the first of her new friends to die, for Merrick, the first she hadn't been able to protect. And for Spike. Because he had saved her. In every way possible. 


End file.
